


A Different Light

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Series: Loving Fire (KagaKuro) [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Canon Related, Character Study, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Teikou angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kuroko met Kagami, he wasn’t as sure as he seemed, about making him his partner in basketball. Not until he discovered Kagami was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for KagaKuro Week 2015, Day Three: Faith. Full notes can be found on [my Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/130787167972/a-different-light-fic-for-kagakuro-week-day).

_“I will make you the best player in Japan.”_

Kuroko trudged homeward, on a clear April evening. His feet dragged across the pavement, his worn tennis shoes trailing through alternating spaces of shadow and light. Overhead, the neighborhood streetlamps buzzed and crackled.

The air was warm. Much too warm, he thought, for spring. The weather had been cool and breezy just that morning. Now with every breath he took, his lungs flooded with heat, clouding his throat and his mouth.

But maybe it wasn’t the weather. Maybe feelings of dread were just hot now, for some reason, instead of cold.

Kuroko shoved the thought away, as he entered his home and called out his usual greeting to his mother and grandmother. They greeted him back, and he stopped by the kitchen, to give them the usual smile. The smile like porcelain, thin and fragile, but keeping up appearances. Good enough, for now.

They both knew the truth. Kuroko was certain they did. They probably knew all about his situation, somehow. Even though he had barely talked about it. His father was the same way. The three of them seemed to understand that he wanted to sort it out on his own. They had all the faith in the world he could do it. They had told him so, about this, and plenty of other things.

Kuroko wasn’t sure he shared their faith, but he tried.

He climbed the stairs to his room, one after the other. His legs felt strangely heavy, and so did the rest of him. Like everything he was carrying just weighed too much. The shoes on his feet, the bag at his side. The ache in his chest.

His bedroom door creaked open. The room was dark, but he didn’t bother turning on the lights. Instead he just shut the door again behind him, and sank to the floor, back sliding against the solid wood. Moonlight gleamed around the edges of the covered window. He hid his face in his hands. He didn’t want to see that silvery glow, or the way the shadows crept around in its shining wake.

_“I am a shadow.”_

Kuroko didn’t know what he was doing anymore.

He had a plan, when he decided to attend Seirin. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to join a team, a real team, in every sense of the word. A brand-new basketball club, filled with players who loved the sport, and cared about each other. Who genuinely believed they could be the best, but also believed wholeheartedly in the value of teamwork.

Kuroko chose Seirn’s team, specifically. They had no idea, but it was true. He could still remember that day over half a year ago, when he found a wallet on the ground, and ended up watching Seirin play in the qualifiers for Nationals. He had known it instinctively, back then. They were like him. They were exactly what he needed.

He also knew what he didn’t need. Or want. Ever again.

Or so he thought, anyway.

Kuroko curled his knees against his chest. He was the type of person who longed to believe in a greater purpose. To feel everything in life happened for a reason. He was choosing to believe that, about the day he stumbled across Seirin’s match. He had only practiced with his new team for a week now. But he wanted to believe in them, so badly. They might never know how badly…

He just didn’t quite understand what greater purpose had brought Kagami Taiga into all of this.

He flinched. He never thought someone like Kagami would show up at Seirin. In hindsight, he had to admit that the need for such a person was obvious. If he was going to play his style of basketball and win, then he desperately needed a hyper-talented player like Kagami. There was no point in making incredible passes, if he couldn’t find someone to make even more incredible baskets with them.

But whenever he watched Kagami, the way he scowled and stalked around school, it felt like watching a replay of an old memory. A memory Kuroko was afraid to relive.

He recalled how much he’d gaped at Kagami at first—during club recruitment, and then on the first day of practice. (Kagami, of course, didn’t notice. No one did.) He honestly never imagined he would meet a person like him again. Someone who was so clearly built for basketball. Remarkably tall, with ideal proportions, and molded of muscle from head to toe. Not to mention full of natural talent for the sport. Every cell of Kagami Taiga was smoldering with untapped potential.

So from the moment Kuroko saw him, temptation gripped him. A sneaking, thought-consuming temptation…

The urge to make Kagami his new partner.

He really shouldn’t, Kuroko told himself. That wasn’t part of his plan. It would be a needless risk. But despite his misgivings, he gave into the urge almost immediately. Which was regrettable. He’d intended to feel Kagami out a bit more, and get a better sense for him as a person, before he decided whether to do anything about it.

But he had to admit he was extremely curious.

So the next thing he knew, Kuroko was on a dusty basketball court, staring the much taller boy down. Then he was playing against him. Sensing the full force of his talent, up close. Marveling at the reality of it, though he never let on. Kagami was insulted by the whole thing, and insulted Kuroko in return. At that point, Kuroko wondered why on earth he ever thought it might be a good idea to partner with Kagami Taiga.

Somehow, though, the temptation didn’t go away.

Soon after that, they played a practice match against the upperclassmen. Then something unexpected happened. Kagami followed after Kuroko, to retrieve his missed shot, and make the final basket. He covered for him. And he did it so quickly, so easily, that it seemed almost instinctual. It was a familiar moment for Kuroko, in many ways. A painfully familiar one… Yet somehow it brought a smile to his lips. A real smile, however small.

So that same night, Kuroko walked beside Kagami, on a busy Tokyo street. And he stopped, to say words he never thought he would say, not after everything that had happened in middle school.

_“I will be the shadow to your light.”_

He chose his words carefully, to make the offer sound as attractive as possible. To appeal to Kagami’s ego, and his competitive spirit. (Kuroko felt a little guilty about that. He wasn’t one to scheme, or use his observations about people to manipulate them… But after what had happened at Teikou, he was willing to do it, if it helped him accomplish his plan.) And Kagami’s eyes, predictably, flickered with interest. He told Kuroko to do what he wanted. And that was that.

It was logical, Kuroko knew. It only made sense, to make Kagami his partner. Greater purpose aside, Kagami was on Seirin’s team now. There was no avoiding that, and it would be foolish not to use his potential. So in the end, Kuroko had to do it. Because he needed to win. To make his team the best in Japan. That was the one part of his long-term plan he couldn’t change.

So he had no choice, really, but to volunteer to become Kagami’s shadow.

But tonight, as Kuroko sat alone in his room, every fiber of him wished he hadn’t. He clutched his hair in his hands, and listened to the voice inside his mind. That softly trembling voice, that still asked the same question every night, the aching and broken question about victory.

_What are you doing, Tetsuya?_

_What are you doing…? Don’t you know any better?_

Kuroko bit down on his lip, hard.

_Do you really want to do this again?_

He shook his head. The voice was all but begging now.

_Please, please don’t do this again…_

_You know how this story ends._

He choked back a groan. Yes, he knew. Because he already knew what kind of person Kagami was. He could see it, too clearly. He was loud, hotheaded, aggressive. Aching for a challenge, eager to compete against the Generation of Miracles. He was burning to face them with his own strength, and focused on winning.

Which meant he was already on the verge of casting aside teamwork for good. All it would take was the right situation, presumably, and he would do just that.

_“I’m not playing basketball for fun.”_

Yes, all it would take was the smallest push. And Kagami Taiga would go over the edge, and straight into the deep end. Consumed, overwhelmed, by his own strength. Kuroko knew how this sort of thing worked. He had seen it before.

Though even the outcome at Teikou hadn’t been _this_ obvious.

Still, the fact remained. Kuroko had known people just like Kagami. Five of them. Miraculously talented players, bursting with confidence, and promise, and light. So he knew where players like that ended up. The way they wound up thinking, about themselves, and about everyone else.

This time, Kuroko didn’t want to come along for the ride.

Yet despite all of this, he had offered to partner with Kagami. And so quickly, too… Maybe in the end, Kuroko was just fooling himself. Maybe this was exactly what he wanted, when he joined Seirin. Another light. So he could be someone’s shadow, all over again. So he could stand back and watch, as that light’s talent grew and grew, until his skills became so impossibly bright they blinded everyone else. And then…

Well, Kuroko knew what would happen then.

Maybe he still hadn’t learned his lesson. Even now, after everything.

He raised his head and stared across the room, at the wall above his desk. Once it had been covered with photographs, but now it was almost bare. Kuroko had stripped the pictures from the wall, on one excruciating night when he couldn’t stand to look at them anymore. When he couldn’t bear to see the once-happy faces of his former teammates, and their manager, and their first captain. He’d taken down the other photos too, ones from elementary school, that featured a certain childhood friend.

Since then, Kuroko had put only two of those pictures back up on the wall. One old photograph showed him with Ogiwara, side by side, smiling on the basketball court where they first played together. That photo was there to remind him of something. A simple truth he told himself every night, so he wouldn’t forget how important it was:

_“I love basketball.”_

The other picture served a very different purpose. But it hurt to look at it, even more so than the first. It was a magazine clipping: a team shot of Teikou’s basketball club, on the day the Generation of Miracles won their third consecutive national championship. The strange thing about it was that no one in the photo was smiling. Not the regular players who had spent all year on the bench, and not the Generation of Miracles, either.

There was a certain player missing from the photo. That was because twenty minutes before it was taken, that player passed out on the hardwood, and spent the rest of the day in the infirmary.

It was just as well, because Kuroko knew for a fact this player wouldn’t have been smiling either.

Kuroko lowered his gaze, to the school bag beside his feet. He picked it up, and slowly unzipped it. A plastic-covered bundle lay inside. Their uniforms had arrived that day, just in time for their first official practice match. Which would be against Kaijou, of all schools. Kuroko would have called this a bizarre coincidence, except he didn’t want to believe in coincidences right now.

That being said, if it was fate… Well, fate had an awfully grim sense of humor.

There was no better proof of this, than the package resting in his hands. He pealed away the clear plastic, and unfolded the white, red, and black jersey. Even in the dark, it was impossible to miss the enlarged numbers on the front. ’11.’ Kuroko couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. He still saw that number in his sleep, sometimes. As the last two in a series of five, glowing red on a scoreboard:

_111:11._

He had never imagined it was possible to hate a series of numbers so much.

He cradled the jersey to his chest. He could have asked for a different number, he supposed. Back when they ordered them. He hadn’t bothered, though. If this was the number he was meant to wear, then he would wear it. It would be another reminder, of how he never wanted to see a match like that happen again.

He refolded the jersey, carefully, and tucked it back inside the plastic. Then he stood, and approached the two photos on his wall. He studied them.

This was why, he told himself. Why he was doing everything he was doing, why he had joined Seirin. He was going to fix all of this, somehow. As he gazed at the unsmiling faces of his former teammates, he couldn’t help but remember how there was still a gap in his plan. A very important space he needed to fill, in this makeshift scheme he was cobbling together, improvising and readjusting it as he went along…

_“The only one who can beat me is me.”_

Maybe there was a place for Kagami Taiga in this mess after all.

It was unlikely, Kuroko knew. Kagami’s talents were still far too raw. But there was a possibility, however small, that he would be the right person for this particular job eventually. In the meantime, Kagami would need Kuroko’s support, if he was going to reach his full potential. Kuroko wanted to help him, if he could.

After all, it was clear to him that Kagami truly loved basketball. Anyone who loved basketball was a kindred spirit, in Kuroko’s mind. No matter how rough they were around the edges. (He remembered how a certain person told him once, that nobody who loved basketball could be a bad guy…)

Maybe history wouldn’t repeat itself. Maybe somehow, Kagami wouldn’t fall prey to the dangers of having too much talent. In any case, Kuroko would have to risk it.

It still seemed like such a stupid thing to do, in more ways than he could count, but he would risk it.

He would choose to believe, in this light-in-progress named Kagami Taiga.

* * *

The night after the practice match with Kaijou, Kuroko collapsed upon his bed.

He was exhausted, in every possible way. The wound on his head still hurt. He was really starting to think that fate was having a strangely elaborate joke at his expense. Honestly, a head injury, in his first official practice match of the year? Just like in the last official game he had played?

He fingered the bandages on his forehead. He was a little surprised, by the way his teammates had all gathered around him after the doctor visit. They seemed so concerned, so glad he was okay. Maybe they were just reluctant to lose him from their lineup, but Kuroko didn’t get that impression, somehow.

Even Kagami looked relieved. Kuroko wondered why he had bothered to notice that. It wasn’t as though he said anything, really. He also wondered why the way Kagami smiled about their win afterward had kindled a warm feeling, deep inside his chest.

As for everything else that happened that day, Kuroko didn’t know how he felt.

He was glad they won against Kaijou. It made him believe, just a little bit more, that he could actually accomplish what he set out to do when he joined Seirin. But as for seeing Kise again, and playing against him… For opposing one of his old teammates on the court for the first time, and witnessing his reaction when he lost, also for the first time…

Kuroko’s feelings about that were more complicated.

He was still shocked, really, that Kise had been the one to seek him out first. How he appeared at Seirin during practice, and asked him to come to Kaijou instead. To be honest, Kuroko resented that request, for reasons he knew Kise didn’t understand. (The fact that he asked Kuroko later, _seriously asked him_ , why he disappeared after the final championship at Teikou just proved it. Kuroko was deliberately guarded about his answer, for so many reasons. He didn’t lie, but there were plenty of things he chose not to say.)

So when Kise made his offer, Kuroko found himself mentioning Kagami right away. Talking about the promise he had made, to be his shadow.

He was a little worried that this was a petty impulse, on his part. As if to say, “See? I don’t need the five of you after all. I found another light already.”

He hoped that wasn’t true. He didn’t think it was, not even way down, in the darkest part of himself. Still, no matter his motives, he supposed he deserved what Kise said to him after the match, when he called him out to the park. After all, Kise had just lost because of him. (Though he probably didn’t know that Kuroko had been aiming for that since he left Teikou, or why.)

Honestly, Kise’s words had shaken Kuroko. Specifically, the part about Kagami becoming like the Generation of Miracles. Not because he hadn’t considered the possibility, but because he had. Now he couldn’t seem to get those words out of his mind.

_“Someday the two of you will part ways… He’ll grow apart from his team. When he does, do you really think Kagami won’t be a different person?”_

Kuroko buried his face in his pillow. Why, why did his old teammates always know the worst possible thing to say to someone?

When had they all become so horribly good at that?

Unfortunately, Kuroko knew why. No one became that gifted at saying something truly terrible to someone else—the one thing most likely to hurt them—unless they were in pain. A person could only cause that kind of hurt if they’d felt it firsthand. Hidden away in the most secret part of themselves, where they believed the very worst things people said about them.

Kuroko wouldn’t have known this, wouldn’t have understood it at all, if he hadn’t seen it happen in front of his eyes.

_“You’re a monster.”_

In the end, Kuroko knew why Kise had said that about Kagami. Because the same thing had happened to him, more or less, and he was still hurting from it.

He wondered if Kise realized he knew that. Probably not. He probably assumed that Kuroko hadn’t managed to see past the cocky front the five of them were putting up about the whole situation. Which was ridiculous. Kuroko knew what they were like before. He knew what had happened to them. He was there.

He wasn’t _stupid_.

Which was also why he knew Kise was right.

Kuroko even asked Kagami later, if he heard Kise’s words about them parting ways. Kagami said that they didn’t get along in the first place… But then he acknowledged that he needed Kuroko. Which was true. For now, at least. Then he said something Kuroko didn’t quite understand.

_“You’ll always stand by the light. That’s your basketball.”_

Was Kagami trying to say that because Kuroko was a shadow, he would never need to leave the light?

If only that were true, he thought. If only it hadn’t happened before.

But… It did mean one thing. It meant that, at least for now, Kagami didn’t mind the idea of him being there. That he didn’t want to part ways just yet.

Kuroko knit his brows, and wondered why this mattered to him.

He closed his eyes tightly. He could still see how Kagami had looked in that moment. That unexpectedly serious look on his face, with his head and shoulders towering toward the sky, their contours aglow in the fiery light of sunset. In that moment, Kuroko had felt…

He didn’t quite know. Surprised? Confused? A little in awe?

He hadn’t expected someone like Kagami to take him seriously. Not this soon, at least. Or to repeat his own philosophy back at him, as though he already understood it. Maybe even respected it.

Kuroko let out a breath. There was that warm feeling in his chest again.

He couldn’t explain it. He had partnered with Kagami because he felt he needed to. But to his amazement, he was actually enjoying it. He liked being around Kagami. He liked teasing him. (Not that Kagami seemed to realize he was teasing, half the time—but that was part of the fun.) He enjoyed startling him, joking around with him. Most of all, he appreciated when Kagami noticed him. When he paid attention.

Kagami, it seemed, was one of those rare people who made him feel visible.

But that was ridiculous, Kuroko scolded himself. Kagami was his teammate, nothing more. They played basketball together. It wasn’t like they were friends.

Were they?

Kuroko shook his head, as Kise’s words echoed inside his mind yet again. He knew he shouldn’t be friends with Kagami. Classmates, certainly. Teammates, of course. Partners, yes. But being honest-to-goodness friends with Kagami would mean getting more attached to him than he needed to. He shouldn’t, he told himself. It was better to spare himself the potential pain later. In case the worst happened.

After all, he had been through this before.

He winced and rubbed his temples. All of this was starting to give him a headache—or maybe that was just the bump on his head. He curled up on his bed, and closed his eyes again. And he did his best to ignore that sick feeling that kept creeping into his stomach, whenever he thought about Kagami becoming a different person someday. A person who would choose to fight on his own, and cast aside everyone else.

A person who would leave him behind.

Kuroko clenched his jaw. He forced himself not to think about it, or about the storm looming on the horizon. Because if Kagami’s abilities kept improving—and they already were improving—then the day would soon come when he would realize he was different than everyone else. That he didn’t need team play, to be an incredible basketball player.

And what Kagami would do, when he realized that…

Kuroko didn’t want to think about it. So he forced his thoughts to drift elsewhere, as sleep slowly took him.

* * *

Soon after that, the storm arrived. But it wasn’t what Kuroko expected.

He expected the setting: an official match, against one of his former teammates. As it happened, the teammate was Midorima. His formidable colleagues at Shuutoku, one of the Three Kings, accompanied him. It was the ideal match to make Kagami realize the depth of his talent. Because ultimately, he was the only one who could stop Midorima’s inhuman three-pointers—which had become even more inhuman than Kuroko remembered, much to his dismay.

But when Kagami saw how strong Midorima was, he simply laughed. That laugh sent a chill down Kuroko’s spine. In the second half of the game, Kagami went on to block shot after shot. Kuroko watched from the bench, with a feeling of increasing dread. Somehow, he could already sense Kagami’s train of thought. The downward spiral of it, the conclusion he was probably reaching…

That he should fight alone. To win.

Kagami returned to the bench during a time-out. Then he said it, out loud, to all his teammates. The very thing Kuroko already knew he was thinking.

“We don’t need team play right now. We need me to score.”

Kuroko’s heart raced, and his head pounded. He knew this was coming. He had braced himself for it from the beginning, almost from the very first moment he saw Kagami. Even so, a feeling of horror gripped him. Its sharp fingers squeezed around his throat, and cinched his breath.

Not again… He couldn’t stand this again…

He clenched his hands. All at once, he knew what he was going to do. He didn’t seriously expect it to fix anything. But he would do it anyway. Step by step, he marched toward where Kagami sat. And he thought about how, in all those awful games at Teikou, he saw and heard things just like this, and did nothing.

He would never stand by and watch again.

Truthfully, it probably didn’t matter. There was probably nothing he could do to change things in the long run. He fully expected Kagami to ridicule him, and turn his back, and keep on heading down the new and dark and miserable road he was on.

But Kuroko was determined to fight him anyway. He would do it every step of the way, kicking and screaming if he had to. As a tribute to his former self, and his old teammates, and everything that still haunted him when he thought about Teikou’s basketball club.

And maybe it wasn’t fair, or right, to take all of this out on Kagami…

Well, too damn bad.

He wound his arm back, and slugged Kagami right across the face. So hard he fell backward off the bench. And he told him he couldn’t play basketball by himself.

Kagami was enraged, of course. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed Kuroko by his warm-up shirt. He yelled that there was no point to basketball if they didn’t win. Well, that was it, Kuroko thought. If Kagami truly believed that, then what he was about to say wouldn’t matter. But he would say it anyway.

“There’s no point if you win by yourself.”

Kagami called him naïve, and punched him right back. Of course, Kuroko thought. He hadn’t expected otherwise. But that explosive pain across his cheek didn’t deter him, only fueled the frustration behind his words. He wasn’t finished. He had one more thing to say. A question that had hovered in the back of his mind, for so many months now…

“Then what is victory?”

It was that awful question, the one Kuroko asked himself every night. The most painful question he knew. He understood too well the results of winning by yourself, without trust or teamwork. About victories that felt hollow, and left you sick and aching inside.

So over time, he had come up with an answer to this question. Half of one, anyway. As much of the answer as he knew right now. He said that as well.

“No matter how many more points you have at the end of the game, if you’re not happy, then that’s not victory.”

He didn’t expect Kagami to understand. He didn’t really expect any of his teammates to understand this declaration. Honestly, it probably didn’t make sense to most people. Only to those rare and seemingly privileged few, who had won over and over again, yet still felt miserable about it.

But then, strangely enough, his senpais chimed in. They echoed his words. Telling Kagami that they still wanted to win, but there was no reason he had to do it alone.

From that moment on, Kuroko knew he had been right, to believe in this team. But the strangest thing was what happened after that…

Kagami didn’t argue.

He didn’t mope, or ignore what any of them said. He actually _apologized_. He even agreed with Kuroko’s statement, about wanting to be happy when they won. And Kuroko stared up at him from the hardwood floor, his face and hand still throbbing, not really believing it.

That was it? That was all?

It didn’t seem possible. There was just no way that all Kagami needed was a few frustrated words and a punch across the face to set him straight. It didn’t make _sense_.

Kuroko was all but certain that if he had done this at Teikou, his former teammates would have reacted with nothing but anger and injured pride, souring into a long-lasting resentment. At best, it might have improved the situation for a little while. But it wouldn’t have fixed anything. Their issues ran much deeper than that.

Was it possible that Kagami wasn’t like them…?

No, Kuroko decided. He couldn’t let his guard down with Kagami yet. Surely this wasn’t the end of it. His abilities would continue to improve, and the darkness in him would resurface somehow. There was no way it wouldn’t.

It just couldn’t be that simple.

Still, he had to admit that as he gazed up at Kagami, at the red mark still staining his cheek, Kuroko felt a shivering burst of relief. For now, at least, everything was all right. Kagami still wanted to play with the team. With him.

And Kuroko lied inside his head, pretending that last part didn’t mean any more to him than the rest of it.

* * *

Then the day came when he couldn’t lie anymore.

The day Kagami abandoned him.

Kuroko was waiting for it. He was on his guard. Even so, he hadn’t anticipated the timing of the event, for one simple reason. The Generation of Miracles never lost. Kuroko had no real experience with losing games. Particularly official matches.

So he never considered that a loss might be what finally pushed Kagami over that fateful edge.

Speaking of fate… By the end of the day, Kuroko was convinced that if it existed, it was the cruelest force in the universe. First, he lost to Aomine. That alone was one of the worst things that had ever happened to him in basketball. (Arguably the worst thing that happened when he was actually on the court.)

The loss was horrible, for so many reasons. It was horrible because Kuroko had failed in his plan—the one to beat all his old teammates, to help them love basketball again. It was horrible because he was forced to watch his new team, the team he truly believed in, suffer though a defeat.

Perhaps most of all, it was horrible because the person who defeated them was Aomine.

Of course it would be Aomine, Kuroko thought. Just to remind him of every single reason why he needed so badly to win—and then force him to fail. Not to mention prove that Kagami wasn’t ready—wasn’t even _close_ to ready—to be Aomine’s rival. Most of all, the match reminded Kuroko yet again why it was so dangerous, to have made Kagami his new light. Aomine was living, painful proof, of every last thing that could go wrong.

_“Your basketball will never win.”_

At times during the last quarter of the game, Kuroko couldn’t decide which person it hurt to look at the most. His senpais, Aomine, or Kagami.

Then fate went and twisted the knife, so perfectly it was breathtaking. Right after the loss, Kagami came straight up to Kuroko in the locker room, and told him that this was their limit. That they couldn’t win just by working together. Then he left, without another word.

Kuroko didn’t know how long he sat alone on the bench after that. He was staring at the lockers, but it was like he couldn’t see them. His chest and head throbbed. Every inch of him stung. Eventually, he picked himself up, and dragged his sore, spent, defeated body home.

When he finally entered his room, he didn’t bother trying to reach the bed. His legs buckled, until he was kneeling. He was dizzy, shaking all over. It was the fatigue, he told himself. He was always exhausted after games.

The fatigue didn’t explain the ache that pierced his chest.

He tried to convince himself that it was just the loss. He was frustrated, and upset, that his plan had failed. At a time like this, it made sense to think about his former teammates. To think about his past at Teikou, and how painful it had been to play against Aomine. To see all over again how scarred his old friend was, and how it seemed like nothing could help him.

So why was Kuroko thinking about Kagami instead?

They barely knew each other. They had been teammates for only a few months now. Yet he couldn’t get that gruff voice out of his mind, telling him in a flat tone that they had reached their limit.

Kuroko drew a soft, trembling breath. He knew what Kagami’s words meant. He didn’t want to be shackled by their partnership anymore. He wanted to win under his own power. Like Kuroko always knew he would.

Tears gathered in his eyes, and bit at his eyelids, until they were spilling out.

How stupid of him. He had known… He had known, and yet…

The tears dripped down his face. His chest shook as he fought for air. Each gasp was like trying to breathe around a blade.

From the start, he had told himself that this partnership with Kagami was out of necessity. That he shouldn’t become any more attached than he had to. Now here he was, crumpled on the floor just because the inevitable had happened.

_Why did you do this to yourself? You knew better._

_You **knew** better._

And he knew what it would be like, to be around Kagami from now on. To constantly watch the taller boy’s back, as he was left behind, again and again. He wouldn’t be someone’s shadow. He would simply be invisible.

_Oh, god…_

_Why does it hurt so much?_

Kuroko choked down his tears, wiped them away. Enough, he told himself. He didn’t need to be someone’s shadow. He could still play with his new team, after all. And he still loved basketball. That was what was important.

That night, Kuroko went through all the usual motions: took a bath, changed clothes, picked at his dinner, and pretended he was fine. Then he went to bed early. He hid under the blankets, pulling them over his head so he wouldn’t see any light lingering in the darkened room. Not even the moonlight around the edges of his window.

It would hurt less tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow he would accept what had happened, and move on. He would figure out how to reset his plan, and what he could do to help his team, without being Kagami’s shadow.

Everything would be fine. Somehow.

* * *

But it didn’t hurt any less.

Kuroko spent the next day at school trying not to stare at Kagami’s back. Not daring to say hello, or even look him in the face. He didn’t want to see the contempt he was sure he would find in those fierce red eyes.

Then after a few days, practice started again. He dreaded it, but he went anyway. Kagami wasn’t there, apparently due to his injury. But he had been told to come, and that only brought back memories, of other players Kuroko had known who started skipping practice.

Each day was harder than the last, somehow. Kuroko didn’t know if he was in pain, or numb, or what was even wrong with him. He was starting to feel like a ghost. Just visiting all his usual haunts, repeating his actions over and over, in the hopes of finding where he made his fatal mistake.

He suspected he had made it on a street corner, when he made a certain reckless offer. But it was too late to change that now.

The truth was, Kuroko had believed in Kagami, completely. More than he meant to. Somewhere deep down, he’d had faith that Kagami wouldn’t give up on him. That he wasn’t like his old teammates. Kuroko didn’t know why he had thought that. Maybe because it was too painful to honestly believe otherwise.

Clearly it had been wishful thinking, in any case. Kagami finally returned to practice. But he was playing by himself again, just like he did when he first joined the team. Kuroko tried not to act like it bothered him. He knew what it meant, though.

Then at a practice game, Kagami specifically told him not to pass to him anymore. He didn’t ask if Kuroko was okay with that—but Kuroko didn't expect him to. So he stopped, even though his gaze was constantly drawn to Kagami on the court. That was what happened, after all, when Kuroko became someone’s shadow. He became attuned to that person, felt their presence more than anyone else.

Even though Kagami wasn’t his light anymore.

Kuroko tried to remind himself of that, over and over again. Yet Kagami’s presence overwhelmed him, even from a distance. His fire, his light, burned brighter than ever. Kuroko might as well try to ignore the sun at midday. But every glimpse of him was a stinging reminder of what had happened between them.

Kuroko wanted to be able to handle it. To accept Kagami’s rejection. To get over it, and try his plan again, the way he envisioned it before he met Kagami. But he barely remembered that original plan now, or how it was supposed to work. And he could only do so much under his own power. If he couldn’t pass to Kagami, his skills weren’t nearly as useful. He didn’t know how to help his team, or move forward.

_“Believe in your own potential a little more.”_

That was what Kiyoshi, his eccentric new teammate, had said to him. But he didn’t know about everything that had happened lately. He didn’t know Kagami had decided not to be his partner anymore.

Kuroko couldn't do this. He wasn’t enough.

Not on his own.

So he conceded defeat. After the practice game, he went to tell Hyuuga that he should be removed from the starting lineup. He still wanted to support his new team, however he could. But he wouldn’t delude himself anymore, about his role in Seirin’s basketball club, or his ability to fix the past. And then…

Well, then he got told off.

Hyuuga told him flat out that he couldn’t quit being a starter, with such force Kuroko was rather startled. He didn’t know how to react. He wanted to explain the situation with Kagami, but he hesitated, not sure how to talk about something so painful. Then Hyuuga brought up Kagami first. He said if Kuroko really didn’t think he could continue as a starter, then he should at least tell Kagami.

Kuroko frowned. Couldn’t the rest of the team see what was going on? That he and Kagami weren’t partners anymore?

But then Hyuuga added, “He believed in you.”

Kuroko’s heart skipped a beat. What did that mean?

Hyuuga went on. Apparently Kagami had talked to him recently, to explain that he wanted to put some distance between the two of them… For now. Because, he said, Kuroko was always saving him. So, he needed to make himself stronger. Because he knew Kuroko would never give up.

Kuroko’s mouth slipped open. He stood still, letting the truth sink in.

He had been wrong.

He had misunderstood what Kagami meant, on the day they lost. Kagami still believed in him. He wasn’t giving up on teamwork.

He wasn’t giving up on him, either.

Kagami had believed in him, even when Kuroko hadn’t believed in himself.

Kuroko blinked. His eyes wavered, as a familiar feeling of warmth washed over him. It spread through his chest, and made his heart swell, until he could scarcely breathe.

He excused himself, and ran out of the gym. He ran across campus, down the street. Past Maji Burger, and the corner where he told Kagami he would be his shadow. The longer he ran, the more Kuroko felt like his feet weren’t touching the ground. But his footsteps sounded in his ears, keeping perfect time with his pulse. Together they pounded out a series of words, that echoed over and over inside him, like music.

_He is not the same. He is not the same. He is not the same…_

A smile curved Kuroko’s lips, as he ran even faster.

_He is not like anyone else._

_He is **different**._

His heart leapt, as though some invisible burden had fallen away. He found Kagami, on the court where they first played basketball together. Kagami turned toward him, and Kuroko saw it then. The openness in Kagami’s expression. He wasn’t hostile or stone-faced at all. He even said Kuroko’s name, just as easily as before. Kuroko felt one final burst of relief.

It was true. Everything was fine.

He gazed at Kagami, trying to catch his breath, feeling more than he knew would ever show on his face. It struck him, all over again, just how much presence Kagami had. Even in the half-darkness of the outdoor court, he shone like a star. In Kuroko’s eyes, at least.

He asked Kagami if they could talk. But suddenly, he realized that he had no idea what to say to him. No idea at all.

There was too much, in a way. Too many things Kuroko could say, but most of them felt strange to voice aloud. There were also things he didn’t know how to say yet. In any case, he wasn’t sure how much Kagami would want to hear. Maybe someday he would tell him everything. But for now, he didn’t quite know where to begin.

He felt almost shy, suddenly.

Of course, Kagami wasn’t the type to wait on him while he figured out what to say. So before Kuroko knew it, they were playing basketball. Just like the first time they were on this outdoor court together. Kagami even mentioned that, with a warm smile on his face. (Kuroko wondered why all of a sudden, that smile made him feel like he was melting a bit.) He even added he was blown away, when he found out what Kuroko could really do in basketball. (There was the melting feeling again.)

Then Kagami asked Kuroko a question, one he didn’t expect.

“Why did you choose me?”

Kuroko blinked, surprised that he wanted to know. His heart sank a little, because Kagami deserved to know the truth. He wasn’t sure how he would react. He might be angry. But Kuroko would have to accept that.

Because from this moment on, he wanted Kagami to be able to trust him. To know that Kuroko would be honest, and as open as he could (even though he had never been very good at the second thing).

So he apologized. He admitted he had lied, by hiding his true motives. He explained how his ultimate goal was to beat the Generation of Miracles. How by the end of his time at Teikou, his old teammates no longer trusted or believed in him. He tried to be as truthful as possible, about why he approached Kagami. About the fact that he had been planning from the start to use him, to make the Generation of Miracles acknowledge his style of basketball.

(He left out one key point about that. Not because he wanted to hide it, but because he thought it wouldn’t make much sense, to anyone except him. Not yet, at least.)

Then, as usual, Kagami surprised him. He said he figured it was something like that. He said he knew he was like the Generation of Miracles, which was obviously why Kuroko chose to work with him. That everyone had their own reasons for playing basketball, and he was no different—

Kuroko interrupted him, very firmly.

“No. Kagami-kun, you _are_ different.”

Because he was.

From the start, Kagami had trusted Kuroko. Accepted him. Even when he realized why Kuroko might have chosen him, that trust never wavered. And even though he had decided to become stronger, he saw no reason to cast their partnership aside.

No wonder Kuroko had started to truly believe in him, despite himself. Despite all his misgivings, despite his old scars. Some part of him always sensed that he didn’t have to be afraid. He could trust Kagami, completely. Even now, when Kagami was fully aware of his own talent.

In that moment, Kuroko knew he would never doubt him again.

He also told Kagami that he understood his words from after the Touou match. That they weren’t parting words, but were meant to make their partnership stronger. Kagami gave him an odd look then—one thick eyebrow cocked upward, as if to say, ‘Well yeah, what did you think I meant?’ Kuroko felt almost sheepish.

Why _had_ he thought otherwise? It seemed ridiculous now.

Of course they were still partners.

As the full moon peered out from behind the clouds, Kuroko finally let go, of all his old worries. He told Kagami he wasn’t Teikou’s sixth man anymore. He was Kuroko Tetsuya, first-year from Seirin, and he wanted to be the best in Japan, with all of them.

Kagami just snorted, and said that was the plan from the start. He passed the ball to Kuroko, with easy familiarity. Kuroko tipped the ball up toward the basket, and watched as Kagami dunked it like he always did, his powerful silhouette awash in the brightening moonlight.

“You don’t want to be the best,” he said, with his rough resolve. “We _will_ be the best!”

Kuroko smiled. Somehow, with Kagami, everything was always so simple.

Simple, and possible.

They left the court together, and Kuroko felt strangely cleansed. Like a blank slate, wiped clean of old writing that had lingered on it for too long. As they walked side by side, Kagami talked about the future, and how they would both get stronger.

He had so much faith, Kuroko realized then. Kagami believed in things so easily, with genuine optimism. Listening to him was like basking in sunlight.

And Kuroko could have sworn, as they bumped their fists together, that he felt a burst of that warm radiance travel through his hand, straight up to his heart.

* * *

Everything was different after that. Outwardly, their partnership looked much the same. They practiced and talked and teased each other, in class and after school. Kuroko suspected it didn’t feel any different to Kagami.

But for him, everything had changed.

He felt lighter, freer. He didn’t ask himself painful questions at night anymore. He even took one of the photos down from his bedroom wall, the one of his unsmiling teammates at Teikou. Someday, he decided, he would put pictures from Teikou back up again. The happy ones, from when he and his teammates were still friends. Better yet, maybe there would be new photos. He hadn’t given up on his plan, to help his old teammates.

But for now, being a member of Seirin mattered to him more. So he replaced the clipping with a picture of his new team. They had taken the photo recently, after Kiyoshi came back. Their coach handed out copies to everyone afterward.

“Now the team’s complete,” she said, and Kuroko recognized the happiness in her voice. Kiyoshi was someone she believed in, without any reservations.

He knew what that was like, now.

Over the next week, Kuroko found himself watching Kagami more, though he didn’t really need to. He was already familiar with his partner’s movements. But he started memorizing all the little details, even the ones that had nothing to do with basketball. Like the way Kagami held a pair of chopsticks, or which fingers he used to scratch the back of his head, when he was feeling self-conscious or restless.

Before long, Kuroko started to study other things. Like how Kagami’s muscles flexed when he ran, or the way his hair fell across his forehead. He didn’t know why he was doing this, at first. Some strange part of him even wanted to count all those fiery red strands of hair, and number each of Kagami’s eyelashes, and measure those funny little creases that appeared between his eyebrows when he furrowed them.

Gradually, the two of them spent more time together. Kuroko started to shadow Kagami without thinking, following him during practice cleanup or on the way to the locker rooms. Kagami never objected.

Then they went to training camp. Kuroko was a bit worried that he hadn’t figured out a new style of basketball. But he freely told Kagami about his concerns, and they never truly darkened his mood. He didn’t know if this was because he had faith that he would find an answer, or because he knew Kagami did.

Maybe, he thought, it was one and the same thing.

Kuroko noticed something else while they were at camp, too. He noticed how he was starting to sneak looks at Kagami more often—like whenever his partner wiped his face with his shirt, and the fabric slipped up to reveal the hard, angular muscles on his stomach. And Kuroko noticed how shivers kept crawling up his arms when he helped Kagami with his stretches, in response to the heat radiating through his partner’s back. Most of all, he noticed a constant urge to be around Kagami, to draw nearer to him when he was around, and to search for him when he wasn’t.

On the last night of camp, Kuroko couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep because Kagami was lying on the futon next to his, and somehow all he wanted to do was listen to the steady sound of his partner’s breathing, and gaze at the broad curve of his back.

As he lay in the dark, Kuroko realized something. He was starting to see Kagami as more than a friend. He had found Kagami attractive from the beginning. (He wasn’t blind, after all.) But this attraction, this pull, was more than that. Much more.

As Kuroko tried to think of a way to explain why, even only to himself, he realized he didn’t know where to start. There were too many reasons. He thought back to the conversation they’d just had on the beach, about their goals for the Winter Cup. He remembered how Kagami had looked, with the ocean breeze ruffling his hair, and how the moonlight looked surprisingly warm against his tan skin. And he thought about how everything felt possible when Kagami was around.

Kagami made him forget about pain, and broken promises. Kuroko didn’t feel like a ghost anymore, constantly reliving the past. Instead he felt present, and alive. Like he was finally living in the moment again.

He sat up, blanket folding around his knees, and edged closer to see Kagami’s face. He was sound asleep. Kuroko stretched out his hand, until his palm hovered beside Kagami’s shoulder. He could sense his partner’s warmth, spilling out of him like heat from a star. Kuroko smiled. He drew back his hand again, and sighed under his breath.

Kagami was like his own personal source of hope. Kuroko never had to remind himself that he loved basketball anymore. It just came naturally. Kagami made him want to become stronger, too. To be the best basketball player he possibly could, instead of accepting his current limits. More than anything, he longed to live up to Kagami’s high opinion of him.

Kagami was his light. Not because he was better at basketball, but because he inspired _him_ to be better.

His light was different. And that was why Kuroko was starting to fall for him.

He wouldn’t say anything just yet, Kuroko decided. He would wait a little while, to see if he could sense whether Kagami was interested in him that way. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, or for things to become awkward between them.

For now, it was enough to shadow Kagami, to follow in the radiant light that trailed after him. Maybe it was true after all, Kuroko thought. Maybe everything in his life did have a greater purpose. Maybe faith, in the end, was rewarded.

Kagami Taiga was proof enough of that.


End file.
